


Playing God

by Rocky_T



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 17:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18145025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T
Summary: A more or less serious sequel to my earlier story "Devil With a Blue Dress On."





	Playing God

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in June 2000.

Chakotay keyed in the entry code and strolled into her quarters without signaling, his mind on the vision his captain had presented earlier. Sensuous, alluring.....and the look on her face when she discovered the ruined pot roast was priceless. He grinned, remembering just how that particular "malfunction" had occurred. The smile grew bigger as he remembered what she'd said about dessert.  
"Kathryn? Are you decent?"

She was still sitting at the table, the remains of the meal in front of her. He felt a sudden flash of surprise, and yes, worry. He knew that Ensign Ballard had left more than an hour earlier--Kathryn should have had plenty of time to clear things away.

She looked up just then and his premonition of trouble became a full-scale Red Alert. That expression on her face....well, what had happened earlier had been too good to be true, hadn't it? Maybe it _had_ all been a product of his imagination; her playful mood seemed light-years away now.

So intent was he on the image of her giving him a calm but regretful speech about parameters and protocols, that her actual words almost went unnoticed. "Chakotay, is something wrong?" Her face was troubled, but her eyes met his with no reservation.

He felt his heart begin to beat once more. "I was just going to ask you that," he said, coming to sit down next to her.

She gave him a wistful half-smile. "I've been better. Yourself?"

"No complaints, so far," he said lightly. "So tell me, how did dinner go?"

"Oh, it didn't last very long," she said. "But it was quite memorable."

"Don't tell me Ballard objected to the menu," he said, his glance falling on the open jar of peanut butter.

"Not at all. In fact, the liquefied pot roast made a good conversation piece." She hastened to add, "No, I didn't say _how_ it happened." A snicker. "You were right, blaming it on the replicator did sound pretty lame."

Her joviality seemed forced. He stood and took her hand in his. "Come on, let's go over to the couch."

She allowed herself to be led, and settled herself next to him easily. The fabric of her tunic brushed his sleeve and he thought once again of just how good she looked tonight. He was dying to pick up where they had left off, but first they had to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering her.

"So she didn't blame you for ruining dinner."

"No, just for ruining her life, or more accurately, ending it," she said ruefully.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"She actually accused you? In so many words?"

"No." Janeway bit her lip. "It wasn't quite like that. We were making sandwiches, and talking. The conversation was going pretty well, or so I thought."

"She seemed comfortable?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't she?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, Kathryn, but you can be somewhat...intimidating." He quickly added, "Dinner with the captain is a big deal, after all."

"She was a little nervous--came in her formal dress uniform--but after a few awkward moments, I really felt we were making progress."

"Than what happened?"

"She asked why I had chosen her to go on the away mission that cost her her life." As if finding it difficult to remain still, Kathryn rose and started pacing. Chakotay leaned back against the couch, and waited.

"What did you tell her?"

"Oh, I said something idiotic like maybe I thought she was the most qualified for the mission. But she saw right through that and said, no, she wasn't. And Chakotay, I just didn't know what to say. What do you answer to something like that?"

He sighed and straightened up. "Kathryn, you've been the captain of _Voyager_ for six years now. And this wasn't your first command. God knows, you've had plenty of experience sending crew members on dangerous missions, and yes, from which some haven't returned."

The corner of her mouth twisted down. "And don't forget all of the experience gained in the Delta Quadrant."

His own expression hardened. "I'm sorry, but that's a load of crap, Kathryn. If we were in the Alpha Quadrant this very moment, do you think you'd never lose anyone under your command, never see friends or colleagues die horrible deaths? Yes, we've experienced a lot of death and devastation out here, but back in the AQ, there's a major war going on, or was. Based on the last information we received, the Federation was taking heavy losses. Who's to say your crew wouldn't be taking the same hits, back home where it's 'safe'?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. It's not the same."

"Yes, it is. You think good people only die in the DQ?"

She paused, as if considering her words. "It's not the same. Dying in a war, that would be expected, 'normal'. They taught us about death in the line of duty back in Command School. No, if we were back in the AQ right now, fighting this Dominion enemy, I'd just be the commander of one ship, a single part of the entire Starfleet network. It wouldn't be my decision whether to open hostilities, whether to gamble our security on an alien alliance..." Her voice trailed off, as if she'd said more than she intended.

"In other words, the responsibility wouldn't be all on your head. Out here, you have nowhere to hide."

"I wouldn't quite put it that way," she said, flashing him a warning look.

"I'm not suggesting that you're a coward," he said, rising and catching her arm. He turned her around to face him. "To confront the threats you do, day in and day out for years on end--the load you're carrying would have toppled anyone else a long time ago. My God, there are times when I don't know how you can possibly keep going."

"I don't know either," she whispered. "And there are times, like right now, when the burden becomes too heavy to go on another step."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I didn't mean that. I just wish that I could help you, make it easier for you to bear."

"You do," she said softly.

"But I wish I could do more," he said. She laid her head on his arm, and he caught the glitter of tears.

He moved them back to the couch, and began stroking her neck and shoulders, softly at first, then more firmly. He could feel the tension in her muscles, feel how tautly the tendons were stretched. He kneaded slowly, rhythmically, until he could feel her beginning to relax.

"Than you." She put her hands over his, stilling their motion.

"I aim to please." He let his hands just rest on the edges of her shoulders. "Tell me something, Kathryn. Why now? You've been dealing with this for years. What happened tonight to trigger this set of recriminations? You've lost crew members before."

"I never had one return from the dead to confront me before," she said matter-of-factly.

"Good point," he said, smiling despite himself. "Still, at least you've been given a second chance. We've _all_ been given a second chance, as far as Ensign Ballard is concerned."

"Yes. But what about the ones that don't come back?" She leaned against him once more, and sighed deeply. Her face looked tired.

For a long time they were silent. Then, "Kathryn?"

"Hmm?" Her voice was getting deeper, huskier, and spoke of gathering drowsiness.

"Why didn't you shift the blame to me?"

"What?"

"Tell Ballard it was my fault. After all, it's the first officer who assigns the members of the away team, not the captain."

She gave him a grateful look, but regretfully shook her head. "No. That's a cop-out. As captain, the ultimate responsibility is mine."

"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten. 'Delusions of godhood'."

"I beg your pardon?" She twisted around so she was facing him.

"It's part of the captain's profile--'a tin-plated dictator with delusions of godhood'."

"That's not very flattering," she said slowly.

"It's not supposed to be, Kathryn. But, you've got to admit, it's an apt description."

"Meaning I go around playing God."

"You certainly act as though the power of life and death is in your hands."

"It is, Chakotay," she said quietly. "Very often, it's on my say-so that someone lives or dies."

"But you don't have the _ultimate_ responsibility. You can't control the outcome of every mission. Sometimes you just have to accept that." Figuring he might as well lay out all his arguments at once, he added, "And putting _your_ life in danger isn't going to help."

"Do you think I take unnecessary risks?"

"You've never hesitated to put your own life on the line, even when common sense _and_ Starfleet protocols dictate staying back. Maybe you don't think you're God, but you sure act as though you think you're invincible."

"I can't ask more from my crew than I'm willing to do myself," she said flatly.

"Have you thought what impact your death would have on the ship and its crew?"

"Like it or nor, I do have the ultimate responsibility for their welfare and safety," she countered. "Do you know what it's like writing a condolence letter to the family of someone under your command, telling a parent or a spouse why their loved one is never going to come home again? Do you know how many I've written since we've been out here?"

He saw the pain in her eyes. "I know it hurts. And I know that it's something you never get used to. But instead of concentrating on the losses, Kathryn, try to focus on what you've still got."

"I try. Believe me, I do try." She ran her hand through her hair, trying to bring it back to some semblance of order. "So I'm not God. Even if I do occasionally play the role." She sat up straighter. "Tell me, how long have you been dying to tell me that particular line? When did you make up that description, anyway?"

"I can't claim credit for this. It was one of the many epithets given to Kirk by his 'admirers'. I think it's Klingon in origin."

"I don't believe you," she said. "For one thing, the Klingons would've used stronger language."

"Consider it a rough translation."

She caught his gaze in a penetrating one of her own. "So that's what you really think of me, is it?"

"Not just you. As I said, it's one of those personality traits common to all the good captains. A certain arrogance and stubbornness that makes you try to bend the world to your will, and to take it personally when it doesn't conform."

She smiled suddenly. "Well, the shy retiring types don't tend to go for command track."

He laughed aloud. "I would never describe you as a shrinking violet."

She shot him a look. "You were a captain once, too."

"And I was just as hard-assed about the safety of my people."

"I'm sure." She reached out and took his hand, gave it a squeeze. "So what brings you by, other than to keep your captain from wallowing in too much self-pity?"

"I was invited. God, don't tell me you forgot what happened earlier!"

"I thought we agreed I'm not God," she said, a small smile playing about the corners of her mouth.

"You're not, Kathryn," he said, drawing her closer. "But you sure do look heavenly tonight."


End file.
